From TV Workshops to HELS: Lessons from Goblin Works Garage

The FIELD NOTES for HELS Journal

Before HELS existed — before streetwear, journals, and slow, intentional brand-building — there was a workshop.

Several, actually. Loud ones. Muddy ones. Chaotic ones. The kind filled with unfinished ideas, stubborn metal, bad decisions, great people, and moments you could never script.

One of those workshops was Goblin Works Garage.

Between 2018 and 2022, Goblin Works Garage was in production and aired internationally across Quest, Discovery Channel, Discovery+, MotorTrend, DMAX, Sky, Amazon Prime and Apple TV. Over three seasons, it became known for doing things differently — fast-paced, visually bold, slightly unhinged, and unapologetically rebellious in a genre that had grown stale.

But what most people saw on screen was only part of the story.

This is what working on Goblin really taught me — about car culture, creativity, identity, and why HELS exists at all.

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How I ended up on Goblin Works Garage

I didn’t come to Goblin through television.

I came through custom cars.

At the time, I’d started a custom car brand with my then partner. I was using my background in fashion as a visual merchandiser and blogger to get our flagship build noticed — writing articles, pushing social media, and building a presence around the work.

That build was a Mk2 Ford Cortina — boxy, unfashionable at the time, and widely overlooked. We turned it into a full custom restomod: a four-inch roof chop on a four-door, de-bumpered, de-seamed, rear handles removed, fully restored and rebuilt. It went from awkward and cluttered to sleek, purposeful, and cool.

When Goblin Works Garage was in pre-production, they were initially looking for people to join a background build team led by two male presenters, Jimmy DeVille and Ant Partridge. They found the Cortina online. That build was exactly the kind of work they wanted to showcase.

At first, I wasn’t interested. I was focused on building my own thing.

But they got back in touch a few months later and persuaded me to come and meet the team. The chemistry was immediate. Instead of a background role, they made me the third presenter.

I’d never done TV before — but my passion for cars, especially custom classics, bordered on obsession.

I also knew one thing very clearly: I never wanted a “normal job” or a “normal life”.

So I thought: why not?

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What my role actually was

I co-presented Goblin Works Garage and helped design the custom builds. It was very much a real build show — I got my hands dirty, stripped cars, welded, and drove whatever I could whenever possible.

I loved cars.

I loved driving.

I loved creativity.

Goblin was the first time all three existed in one place.

There still aren’t many women in the car industry, and at the time there were even fewer on screen who were actually involved in the builds. I joined Goblin not as decoration, but as someone doing the work — in an industry that still struggles with sexism and toxic masculinity.

That mattered to me.

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What filming was really like

Filming days were long, exhausting — and honestly, brilliant.

Series one was especially electric because none of us knew what kind of monster we were creating yet. Not just in terms of the builds, but the show itself. We didn’t know how it would be received, whether it would work, or how each project would turn out.

On my very first day of filming, we were testing a Mk2 Ford Escort in a muddy quarry to show just how bad the setup was before restoration. It had been imported from South Africa, so the shell was solid — but mechanically, it was rough.

I was driving. Ant was in the passenger seat. It was absolutely filthy. We had no washer fluid, and I couldn’t see a thing through the windscreen.

At one point, Ant got out of the car and peed on the windscreen to clear it.

Completely unscripted.

Completely Goblin.

I still couldn’t see properly and ended up crashing the Escort into a rock buried under the mud. On day one. With the head of the production company on site.

I genuinely thought I was about to be fired.

Instead, it became part of the build story — authentic, messy, real. It set the tone for everything that followed.

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The feral years

We were lucky enough to film series one on a huge farm owned by an incredible engineer — a former racer, performance parts manufacturer, and all-round mad genius who’d moved into building flying machines. He even had an airstrip in his garden. And now he’s a stuntman. Literally the coolest person.

He became the fourth Goblin. I called him Uncle Paul — if I could’ve adopted him into my family, I would have.

The farm was packed with petrolhead toys, and as a crew we were… feral. Always wanting to drive something fast or ride something dangerous. Trying to keep us on schedule was like herding cats. One lunch break, we even went flying.

We worked hard and played hard — because that’s how real petrolheads operate.

I even had custom leather bracelet cuffs made for the three of us that read:

“Feral as fuck.”

When the first series aired, Jimmy, Ant and I were described as “Rod, Jane and Freddy on acid.”

We loved that.

It was bang on.

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What people misunderstand about car TV

TV wasn’t glamorous.

There was no hair and makeup, no wardrobe budget, and very little money — especially for me on season 1. Despite the show’s international success, I didn’t receive equal pay, and I don’t receive royalties, even though Goblin continues to air worldwide.

In series one, I actually lost money because I had to pause my freelance work and my own custom brand to commit fully to filming.

And while we were deeply involved in the builds, it was physically impossible to manage every aspect while presenting full-time. We had a brilliant behind-the-scenes team, and some work — like paint — had to be outsourced.

Inevitably, some builds didn’t reach the standard we wanted, and that was genuinely hard to accept. But others we were immensely proud of and took to car events to represent and promote the series.

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The people (and the magic)

My biggest highlight wasn’t just the cars.

It was the people.

I’m a huge music fan. Teenage me just wanted backstage passes and to marry a rock star. I didn’t marry one — but thanks to Goblin, I’ve been backstage more times than I can count.

While working on my personal MX-5 project, I shared progress on Instagram. Out of nowhere, Taka Hirose, bassist from one of my all-time favourite bands Feeder, got in touch.

That connection turned into a real friendship. Taka even appeared in an episode of series two. Funnily enough, our very first Goblin crew night out in series one was to see Feeder play live.

Since then, I’ve watched bands side-of-stage, partied backstage, and met artists my 14-year-old self used to doodle on her school folders. I still can’t quite believe it.

I’ve made lifelong friends through Goblin — and that alone made every long day worth it.

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Travel, chaos, and stories you can’t make up

Goblin took us all over — across the UK and further afield. From San Diego, Los Angeles and Las Vegas to travelling through Albania, we saw incredible places.

One moment I’ll never forget: driving a custom VW bus down the Las Vegas strip with Jimmy after a brutal two-week filming stint. As we drove, Mike Tyson passed us in a white BMW and waved.

Like… what the actual f*ck.

Seconds later, the VW broke down. We abandoned it by the roadside (after pilfering the race harnesses and 8-ball gear shifter), got a lift to the airport, and just made our flight.

You genuinely couldn’t make it up.

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The end of Goblin (and the lessons that stayed)

The spin-off series, Goblin Mod Shop, wasn’t a positive experience. Our creative input was taken away, and the result wasn’t something I was proud of.

I won’t go into detail — I don’t like fuelling negativity — but I was deeply sad about how it ended.

Goblin had all the ingredients to be an enduring piece of UK pop culture. It was different, rebellious, and fresh. At a time when there are so few custom car shows left, it mattered.

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Why this matters now — and why HELS exists

I’ve lived and breathed custom cars. There’s been blood, sweat and tears — literally.

My story is real.

I was lucky enough to experience what feels like the last great years of television — before everything fractured into noise. I’m a millennial. I miss four-speed manuals, hot hatches, MTV, Top of the Pops, mixtapes, and life before smartphones.

That analogue world shaped me.

Goblin taught me more than I could ever list. It gave me experiences I’ll carry forever. And for all of that, I’ll always be grateful.

HELS exists because I wanted to carry that culture forward — slowly, honestly, and on my own terms.

It was the nickname given to me on the set of Goblin, and now it’s my brand.

I love that connection.

Because I will always be a Goblin.